


I like our second first kiss better

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, First Kiss, Fluff, Frenemies, Gentle Kissing, Hate to Love, High School, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, really all the usual baggage you get with flash thompson, though it's all very vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: Three first kisses, growing up every October.--Set in an alternate Spider-Man timeline, with a peek each at junior year, senior year, and college.
Relationships: Flash Thompson/Tiny McKeever, Peter Parker/Flash Thompson
Kudos: 64





	1. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early junior year.

"Let's play a game!"

Junior year. Freshly minted sixteen—Peter not _actually_ sixteen yet. Sitting in his bedroom a week before his birthday with—some might say—the unlikeliest group, aka his only friends, the only people who ever spoke to him: the wishy-washy Mary Jane Watson, who seemed to attend school only part time and acted as though she were intensely mysterious when really she was just loud and theatrical...

And Flash Thompson.

Nemesis. Enemy. Rival, if it weren't for the fact that he was a dumb jock and thus too much of an airhead for Peter to consider a real threat.

Just a nuisance who played too many sports and picked fights with kids twice his size.

But he was _Peter's_ nuisance.

"Hold on." Peter pushed his glasses up his nose and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I thought we were going to do _homework_."

Not that Peter hated their company on its own. Not entirely. He'd just had ideas for how they were meant to be spending their Thursday afternoon and this wasn't what he'd planned and it was messing with his whole mental schedule and –

MJ made a face. "Don't you ever do anything _fun_?"

"I hate fun." Peter spoke bluntly from his place at his desk. He corrected himself. "I hate _your idea_ of fun."

She sighed. Looked imploringly at Flash. He just shrugged stiffly and looked at the door. Mumbled something about sticks and asses. She turned her expression back on Peter—an exaggerated pout, with big green eyes, a stray curl of red hair falling into her face. Peter rolled his eyes with the most world-weary sigh he could muster but slithered to the floor in a reluctant heap.

" _Fine_."

MJ clapped her hands together in delight. Devilish glee, maybe. She just needed some horns and a tail.

So they sat arranged on the floor in a little triangle, MJ's back to the door and her legs stuck out obtrusively. Peter leaning against his desk, legs crossed. Flash with his knees up, defensively positioned. Always defensive.

There was a joke to be made about that, somewhere in there. A sports metaphor.

"What kind of game?"

That's where MJ's devilish grin took a turn for the dastardly innocent, eyes widening. "Why, Petey." She rested her hand against her chest with the raw drama of a partially homeschooled theater kid living with her lesbian aunt after the death of her mother. "The only game that matters."

Oh, no.

Flashbacks of family reunions with the Reilly clan, his cousins' thick Boston accents as they asked each other—

"Truth or dare."

Peter groaned.

MJ laughed, reaching out to poke him with her foot. "C'mon, tiger, it'll be fun!"

" _'Fun_ ,' she says." Peter rolled his eyes. " _Un_ -likely."

Flash scoffed, letting one of his legs down, as he immediately put on his usual air of not-caring-at-all, the one normally reserved for other people. "It's just a dumb game, Parker." He glanced over at the door. "Unless you're chicken?"

Their eyes met.

Right, right.

" _No_ , she'll just make me lick the doorknob and then I'll get syphilis and _die_."

Flash made a clucking noise, threatening to flap his elbows like wings. MJ wheezed.

Peter gave in. "Alright, hit me." He leaned back on his hands. "D-A-R-E. No holds barred."

She sobered instantly, stroking her chin as she considered. "I dare you..." She looked around the room, exchanging a squint with Flash, raising one eyebrow at the window, observing the closet door. She smiled, and held her hand out imperiously. "To kiss my hand."

"That's it?" Peter scooted closer to take her fingers in his. "Okay." He pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand. He let her go with a, "I thought this game was supposed to be fun."

Something sparked in her eyes, her shoulders straightening, the hidden gears in her head spinning to life. "Oh, it _will_ be. Don't you worry, tiger. It will be."

Peter smirked, but he turned his attention to Flash—the logical next recipient unless he and MJ just wanted to go back and forth upping the ante, which, to be fair, appealed to some part of Peter's brain. But no... It had to be Flash next. He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at his closest frenemy as he intoned, far too seriously, "Truth... or dare?"

For a moment, Flash hesitated.

"Truth is for girls and losers." Flash squared himself. "Dare me."

How could Peter make him regret this most...?

"It's a shame your hair is buzzed." Or he could have had MJ braid it. He took in the confused expression that flitted across Flash's face, and followed his train of thought from there. "My aunt's in the living room painting her nails. I know she doesn't like you all that much but I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you joined her."

Instantly, as if a switch had been flipped, Flash's expression hardened. Jaw tight, angular brows drawn, posture stiff.

Peter allowed himself a small victory smile. So easy to rile the boy up. So simple.

"What," He picked a bit of lint from his sweater, casual. "You chicken? It's just nail polish."

Flash huffed like a bull, but instead of the spiteful storming off Peter expected—chicken was how they usually got each other to do things they didn't want to do—he just said, "I can't."

"You can't." Peter exchanged a look with MJ. She tilted her head. Something in her eyes betraying the depth that she usually hid so well. He looked back to Flash. "'Can't' as in you don't _want_ to because you're an overcompensating wimp, or 'can't' as in _can't_?"

Flash shook his head vigorously. "I can't—"

"You have hands, don't you?" Peter spread his own in demonstration.

"I can't do it, okay? I just can't." Flash's eyes bored into Peter, begging him for some kind of understanding, to parse something he wasn't saying out loud. Something he couldn't say. "Call me a coward if you want, but I can't do it."

Peter relented. "...Okay, jeez." He let out a puff of air. Shifted into smugness. "Then I dare you to kiss me."

Flash's eyes went wide as saucers, and MJ's too, in Peter's peripheral.

Finally he squeaked, "What?"

His voice even cracked, temporarily leaving the human range of hearing.

It would have been cute if it weren't Flash.

Peter raised his chin. "You heard me."

Mary Jane hissed his name, but his attention was on Flash, undivided.

They stared at each other for what felt like minutes upon minutes but was most likely only about fifteen seconds, give or take a handful. Flash's throat worked. His eyes looked huge in the afternoon-turned-evening light coming in through the window. Almost as green as MJ's, but not quite. Flash broke first, turning his head to the side and his eyes away from Peter's.

He shook his head a little bit. Just a tiny motion. Didn't say a thing.

"You told me to dare you and you won't do any of them." Peter scooched over to Flash, pulling his glasses off—it was getting dark enough without the lamp on, so they didn't help much anyway. "'Truths are for girls and losers.' So give me a truth: _Why?_ "

Flash backed away from Peter as Peter came closer, but his back was already to the wall and there was nowhere further to go.

"What are you so afraid of?"

Peter set his hands on Flash's shoulders. Flash was already a lot taller than him, and a few months older (not that it counted for anything) but here he looked small. If Peter was the school's supposed perpetual wallflower, Flash was a shrinking violet under his glare—withering.

"I've never kissed—" Flash finally looked back at him. His breath stuttered as he realized how close they were—Peter right in his face, half-blind without his glasses. Flash's face mostly a smear in the shadows.

Peter kissed him.

Just briefly—Flash didn't move. Didn't respond. Didn't breathe. Peter pulled away, muttered, "Your turn" and turned his back to Flash, slapping his knee as he went back to his place.

MJ had her hand in front of her mouth.

"What?" Peter glowered at her as he plopped himself back down in front of his desk.

She tore her eyes from Flash to shoot Peter an incredulous look. " _Peter_." She spoke in a stage whisper. "Didn't you _hear_ him? That was his first kiss!"

"Well, it wasn't mine." Peter looked away from them both with a huff, crossing his arms and wishing he'd thought to turn the light on before he sat down.

That got MJ, though.

"Yeah, right!" She laughed in disbelief, a short, sharp bark. "Who have _you_ kissed?"

A rustle, as Flash stood without a word.

Peter ignored him to grin at MJ, all teeth. "My cousin Amanda." He held his finger up. "At a family reunion in Boston. I was eight."

The face MJ made was worth the reminder that his first kiss had involved a similar game of truth or dare, and far too much clam chowder. She wrinkled her nose, putting a hand up as if to keep Peter at bay—"One," she grimaced. "Gross. Two: that doesn't _count_."

The door shut quietly.

"Okay." Peter rolled his eyes. "And who have _you_ kissed, miss know-it-all?"

Mary Jane scoffed. But she didn't meet his eye. "...Whatever."

He let himself exude smug satisfaction, crossing his arms behind his head before realizing...

"Did he just _leave_?"

Peter hopped to his feet and snatched his glasses up, shoving them on as he wrenched the door open. He caught a glimpse of Flash bolting out the front door—like he'd heard Peter and just ran. Peter took off after him with a shout, and ignoring his aunt and uncle in the kitchen.

"Hey!" Peter almost tripped on the single front step. "Get back here!"

Flash spun on his heel ten feet down the sidewalk, awkward and tall. "Back off!"

Defiant as always, Peter moved forward.

Flash threw his backpack at him.

"Stay away from me, you—" Flash clenched his fists. "You freak!"

" _Freak_?! " Peter grabbed Flash's bag from the ground—

"Hey!"

He dropped it, hands up.

"The _hell's_ the matter with you two?" Ben Parker came striding from the porch.

Peter had the decency to pretend to feel sorry, ducking his head and linking his hands behind his back. He glanced surreptitiously at Flash, as he mumbled, "Sorry, Ben."

Flash had turned his face away, again, shoulders hunched high and arms crossed tight across his chest. Stiff back and knees. Waiting for something to happen, maybe.

But his uncle's warm hand on his shoulder drew Peter's attention back to his imminent scolding, a gentle squeeze reassuring him that while he might be in trouble, it was nothing to worry about. Peter looked up at him.

"Why are you shouting in the street, huh?" Ben's eyes were soft with concern, against his stern expression and sharp tone. "You're making a ruckus. Did he do something?"

Peter couldn't help it—he laughed.

He could lie.

It would be easy.

"No." Peter tilted his head, as they both looked at Flash. "It's my fault."

Uncle Ben gave Peter a firm pat on the shoulder. "Okay. Talk it out and come back when you're both calmer."

All the tension seemed to drain from Flash at once, and he sank down to the sidewalk. Practically collapsed, boneless, with a loud breath, and rested his forehead against his knees.

On the porch, Aunt May and MJ both stood halfway out the door. Concerned, curious. Uncle Ben leaned close to May to whisper something as he came up to them, and she said something back. She and Peter made eye contact, and she raised her eyebrows. He shrugged, with his most innocent smile. She shook her head with a judgmental glance toward Flash and turned away, pulling Ben inside after her. Mary Jane lingered a moment, like she wanted to join them, but Peter's aunt called her name from inside, and she disappeared too, leaving the screen door swinging in the early autumn breeze.

Peter turned his attention back to Flash.

He'd practically curled in on himself, arms over his head. Like he wanted to be small.

"Jeez." Peter threw himself down onto the curb beside him, leaning back on his palms despite the grit. "I'm not _that_ bad at kissing, am I?"

Flash didn't say anything.

Peter stretched his legs out. He'd forgotten to put shoes on. He sighed.

"Sorry." He scratched his nose. "You're not crying, are you?"

Muffled, Flash mumbled, "I don't cry."

Peter snorted. "No, you just freak out and run away over a measly little kiss."

Flash spoke quieter:

"I'm not gay."

Like speaking it too loud or too clear would unleash something he couldn't take back.

Peter rolled his eyes but he just said, "Okay."

If Flash wanted to be that way, he could be that way.

"I'm not." Flash curled tighter into himself, if that were possible, a rounded silhouette under the light of the streetlamp. "I'm not."

Scared and small. Sixteen and already six feet tall and Peter had never seen anyone look so tiny and fragile, except when his aunt got sick on a bad day. Flash, all wound up like a pill bug. Worn old t-shirt, a little too short in the hem. Arms hiding his buzzcut.

Just a bundle of negatives. Can't, don't, won't.

Not.

He kept whispering it.

"It was just a dumb game." Peter knew he was stubborn, jutting his jaw out. Still fifteen for a week and trying to balance. Remembering when he was younger and he'd been too scared to get out of a worse situation. He closed his eyes, listening to Flash's soft murmured denial. "Shit." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look up at the black sky. Not a single star visible. "I'm an asshole."

His aunt would have scolded him for that kind of language, but he didn't care.

She'd be more disappointed knowing he'd pushed someone out of their comfort zone the way he had with Flash.

Peter swallowed down all his indignant pride—that he could have made such a mistake—and shifted closer to Flash, reaching out slowly like one might reach out to a feral animal. Flash flinched at the weight of his hand, but Peter just held his shoulder.

He didn't push any further.

Flash was quiet again. Sniffled a little.

Right.

Definitely not crying.

Peter gave Flash's shoulder a slight squeeze and stood up. He retrieved Flash's backpack from where he'd dropped it and set it beside him on the curb. Shuffled his bare feet a little against the cold concrete. "Okay, well." He put his hands on his hips, awkward suddenly. "I'll be inside."

No answer from Flash.

"...Okay." Peter retreated backwards, turned, and tripped on his way into the house.

Five minutes later, Flash came back inside.


	2. Confiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early senior year.

October.

The leaves just beginning to turn.

Peter crept along the ground, camera in-hand. Moving silent as he could, slinking as he followed a jumping spider through the grass. It seemed as curious about him as he was about it—it stopped, and he stopped, and it turned to look at him with the four eyes on the front of its head. He snapped a picture.

His hearing picked up on some quiet murmurs nearby.

" _Have you ever...?_ "

He tilted his head to listen, and the spider tilted its body.

Smart little thing.

" _I thought you were dating Liz._ "

Peter snapped another picture.

" _We're not really... President and VP? It's a good excuse. She's okay with it. The status..._ "

He'd suspected Flash and Liz were faking for a while, but hadn't really thought about it that hard aside from occasionally wondering why they barely even held hands. Liz Allan, in it for the clout. That tracked, from what Peter knew of her. Not that he knew much of her or anyone else aside from Flash, MJ and Betty. But even them… not so much.

" _Sure, dating Midtown High's MVP in how many sports, again? Three? Four?_ "

" _Shut up, you know you're great too._ "

The spider was on the move again, and Peter followed it.

The source of Flash and Tiny's voices came into view as he found himself behind the risers still set up from an afterschool football practice session. He leaned around a little to see—Flash sat on the edge of a row, his small feet (for his height, at least) barely brushing the grass. Tiny stood in front of him, with his hands on Flash's waist.

"Not as good as you."

Flash tilted his face a little, hesitating with his arms draped loosely around Tiny's shoulders. His ears were pink, and he glanced away, bashful, as their noses brushed—

A little zap itched up Peter's neck, and his eyes met Flash's from where he crouched in the grass.

It felt like time froze, as Flash's eyes first widened, then his expression took a turn for furious.

Peter bolted to his feet, fast—probably too fast—as Flash snapped, "Hey!"

Five feet away before Flash shoved away from Tiny and launched himself off of the portable bleachers to chase after Peter. Peter could have been gone in the blink of an eye. Could have blown his whole cover. Instead he let Flash catch him at the far end of the field, and they hit the ground together with a thump.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Peter kept his camera just out of reach when Flash tried to grab it, letting his reflexes act for him just enough to protect the old thing. (It had belonged to his uncle.)

"Gimme that—" Flash lunged and Peter easily swapped hands with a snarl.

"Get off me, dumbo!" He jabbed his elbow into Flash's face.

Flash grunted—wrestling like two adolescent idiots. Peter could have smushed him like a bug, but he didn't. Flash groped for the camera with a hiss.

"I swear to God, if you show anyone—I'll break it! I don't care how old it is!"

He twisted. Peter held him at bay with one hand, pressed against his face, inelegant but effective.

"I wasn't—" Peter used just enough of his strength to shove Flash to the side, slipping out of his grip. "I didn't take any pictures of you, you self-absorbed prick!" He surged to his feet, clutching his camera to his chest. "There was a spider! I like spiders!"

Flash lay on his back, chest heaving. He glared up at Peter.

Peter huffed, and let his camera down to hang by the strap around his neck.

"If you're lying, I'll... I'll break your arm."

Peter barely held back a laugh. He couldn't stop the disbelief on his face as he looked down at Flash. "Okay, punk."

"I mean it." Flash pushed himself up, dusting off his backside. "Don't tell anyone."

Peter rolled his eyes, but he held his hand out, making a fist but for his extended pinky. "Promise."

Flash hooked his pinky.

"Okay."

They were both silent for a moment.

Just a moment.

"So... are you still coming over for dinner?" Peter eyed Flash, expectant.

Flash sighed, shoulders dropping, but he nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay." Peter hesitated.

Fast as lightning, he held his camera up and snapped a picture of Flash standing there, head half-bowed, lit by early autumn sunlight.

He waited for Flash's slow human brain to process—grinned wildly, and took off running just as Flash shouted, "Hey! You menace!"

Peter laughed as he ran.


	3. Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of winter break, sophomore year of college.

Peter cut the engine as he brought his bike to a stop in front of his aunt’s house. A glimpse of red hair in the window next door caught his eye—he waved at MJ from the street and she shot him a peace sign before letting the curtains fall back into place.

Of course, she wasn’t the only one. Flash peeked out of Peter’s bedroom window, but immediately closed the blinds when he realized Peter had noticed, a quick spark of disappearing strawberry blonde curls. Peter grinned to himself as he jogged up to the porch—he stopped to test the ramp installed over the short steps. Still sturdy. Maybe he ought to reinforce it again, anyway, before it got too cold. Just in case.

“I’m hooome—” Peter ducked inside with the roses he’d picked up cheap on the way home hidden behind his back. “Where’s my Lucy?”

Ah, there was Aunt May, reading on the couch in the living room. She looked up with a raised eyebrow and half a smile, and said, “I think he’s in his room.”

“Who, _Flash_?” Peter brandished his roses, leaning down to kiss his aunt on the cheek. “And that’s _my_ room.”

May laughed, taking the gift with a fuller smile.

“Not anymore, it isn’t.” She sniffed the roses, and let Peter help her to her feet.

Technicalities.

Once the flowers were in a vase, Peter gave May one more kiss on the cheek, and a quiet, “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.” before retreating to his bedroom. _His_ room, since childhood. Not Flash’s, even if he’d been living there for six months (and staying there for longer). He slunk in and shut the door behind him as quietly as possible—not that he needed to, because Flash looked up as if he’d been waiting, dinking around on the laptop he’d gotten for his birthday almost exactly a year and six months ago, the June before his accident.

Accident. Right. Because Doctor Octopus did anything “accidentally.”

“Miss me?” Peter shucked his jacket and tossed it onto the desk chair.

Flash snorted, eyes returning to his computer. “Just waiting _hours_ to watch Star Trek. What took you so long?” He leaned back a little more comfortably against the pillows, propped up against the wall. Adjusted the screen. “You missed dinner.”

Peter smirked. “I’m sure you managed to eat it all just fine without me.”

He got a middle finger from Flash for that, sparkling with pink nail polish... But as he changed into his pajamas (mostly just flannel pants and nothing else) he smiled. “Remind me where we left off?”

“Well…” Flash scooted over as he recounted the most recent episode they’d watched together, a few weeks ago on a weekend visit.

Peter hit the lights and crammed himself onto the bed beside Flash.

It wasn’t exactly spacious, being the same twin-sized mattress he’d been using since he was thirteen, but what was the harm in a little close contact between friends? He slung his arm around Flash’s shoulders and settled in for some nice, dated sci-fi television.

Three episodes in, and Flash had fallen asleep with his head tucked against Peter’s shoulder.

He was warm against Peter’s side, hair tickling Peter’s chin, as Peter reached out to pause the episode, fumbling a little with the trackpad. Flash stirred, and Peter slid the laptop out of his way with a quiet, “Shh…” He turned his head, pulling Flash a little more snug against him, and Flash mumbled something incoherent.

Peter grinned crookedly, pulling Flash down against the sheets to lay beside him.

“Wait…” Flash pushed himself up onto his elbow, his other arm resting lightly across Peter’s chest. “We’re not done with the episode…”

He looked so sweet, sleepy with his hair sticking up in the darkness.

It came naturally, for Peter to just trail the back of his finger up Flash’s cheek. “I’m still here.” He tweaked a stray half-curl falling into Flash’s eyes. He tugged him a little closer, gently, careful not to pull his hair too hard. “Unless you plan on kicking me out.”

Flash frowned thoughtfully, almost like he was considering it. But he grinned, and Peter could make out his dimples in the shadows. “Nah.”

“Good.” Peter took his face in both his hands. “’Cause you’re warm and I don’t wanna sleep on the floor.”

Flash gnawed on his lip, looking down at Peter from just a few inches away.

Peter tilted his head a little, following the lines of his face—he caught his thumb against Flash’s bottom lip and clucked his tongue. He pressed down lightly on Flash's lip, so he couldn’t bite it, and offered Flash a small smile.

“C’mere.”

He met Flash partway there—soft, and slight, the barest press of their mouths together as Peter smoothed his hand through Flash’s shaggy hair to cup the back of his head. Brief, and he pulled back with a breath, to read Flash. A little dazed, very warm—if Peter knew Flash (and he knew Flash pretty well by now) he was probably beet red underneath the darkness.

“Okay?”

It took Flash a second, but he nodded.

Peter grinned, and pulled him into a deeper kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief explanation is that flash drops out of college at the end of his freshman year due to a variety of factors and he moves into peter's old bedroom for a while as peter continues college. they share during breaks obviously. peter usually gets the floor.  
> eventually they'll move into their own apartment together.
> 
> there's like...  
> more backstory than that but i'm not gonna put it all here. Doc Ock is the one who put Flash in a wheelchair.


End file.
